


dreamwaves

by orphan_account



Series: isak x jonas [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Childhood Friends, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Neighbors, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I want to be an astronomer when I grow up," Isak suddenly says, eyes trained on the sky that's not even dark yet, instead painted with a mix of a dull light blue and purple. "I'd name a star after myself. And you.""Would they just be called 'Isak' and 'Jonas'?""No." There's a short silence where Isak quickly looks over at Jonas and then up at the sky again. "They'd be called 'Jonas 9000' and 'Isaka'."alternatively, 8 times isak and jonas sneak out to be with each other + the 1 time it goes very, very wrong (or very, very right)





	dreamwaves

**Author's Note:**

> i feel active mates!!!! and the other chapter's coming soon donut worry 
> 
> also cred to @birthmarks (i don't know how to tag people here lmao) who gave me the idea <333

1\. August, 2010-

They're ten and eleven, and Jonas has just moved to the house next to Isak. They have a small roof connected to their second floors and both of them convince their parents that they can have the room with the window leading to it. 

The first night they sneak out, it's mid-August and at least twenty degrees outside. It's only 9 PM, but they still feel cool because they're drinking soda even if they're not allowed to and they're sitting on a roof, which they're probably not allowed to do either. 

Jonas can't stop looking at Isak's hair. It's too short nowadays, since his dad forced him to cut it. He can't braid it or run his hands through it or bury his face in it when he's sad. It used to reach him to the shoulders; shiny, blond, loose curls. Now, it's too short to curl even a little bit. Whatever. Isak's still the prettiest boy he knows. 

Both of them have bruised legs from their summer adventures, falling from their bicycles or their skateboards, rolling down hills, accidentally swimming into bridges. They're more visible on Isak's legs, though; green, purple, blue against tanner than usual but still pale skin. Jonas spent so much time in the sun that he's darker than his mom now and Isak says it makes him look like an angel with really green eyes. 

"I want to be an astronomer when I grow up," Isak suddenly says, eyes trained on the sky that's not even dark yet, instead painted with a mix of a dull light blue and purple. "I'd name a star after myself. And you."

"Would they just be called 'Isak' and 'Jonas'?"

"No." There's a short silence where Isak quickly looks over at Jonas and then up at the sky again. "They'd be called 'Jonas 9000' and 'Isaka'."

Jonas can't help but laugh. Isak looks so proud of himself to come up with those names but they're honestly one of the stupidest things Jonas has ever heard. "Those are so bad," he laughs. Isak just smiles at him and shakes his head. 

"They're good. Stars have those kinds of names. They can't just have normal names because they're too many. Do you know how many stars there are?" Jonas shakes his head, still smiling at his best friend. "So many. Like, more than there are drops in the ocean! And they're all different!"

Nodding, Jonas leans back against the slightly tilted roof until he's lying down completely with his back against the black surface. Isak follows and soon, they're both lying there, half-open eyes gazing at the darkening sky, with their hands just slightly interlaced. 

"I think you're a star, Iss."

2\. October 2010-

It's too cold to be outside and at 9 PM, when the sun's already gone down, Isak sneaks out of his own room, into the cold, and then into the warmth of Jonas's room. For some strange reason, Jonas's window is always open, even when it's under zero degrees, but Isak doesn't complain because it makes it alot easier for him to open it further and climb in. 

He rolls down from the window and onto the bed, expecting to land on Jonas's lanky body, but instead, he just lands on a blue duvet and a book. Jonas's sitting by his desk, hunched over with his desk lamp on. His right leg's bouncing like it always does when he tries to do his homework and Isak doesn't want to bother him, but the bed springs squeak and Jonas immediately turns around with a nervous frown that soon turns into a smile. 

"Hey," he says, pushing his chair away from the table to get closer to Isak. He looks exhausted, dark hair pointing in every direction and dark bags under his eyes and Isak just wants to hug him. 

"What's up?" he asks and makes himself comfortable on the bed, pulling a blanket over himself. "Tired?"

"Yeah." Jonas smiles and picks up a paper from his desk. "Done with the english homework, though."

"Do you want to sleep?" When he doesn't get an answer, he stretches out his arms towards Jonas and gives him the kindest smile he can. "Lie down with me, Jonas."

Jonas nods and lies down next to him, face buried right in Isak's chest and hair right in his face. He's so warm and his Arsenal hoodie is all soft, making him feel like a teddy bear. A very tired and fidgety teddy bear, but still. His hands keep playing with the strings on Isak's sweatpants and his cold feet are trying to warm themselves on his ankles, but Isak doesn't mind. He's used to it. 

"Go to sleep," he whispers and Jonas nods, squirming in his arms to change his position, but Isak's holding him too close for him to be able to do that. "It's fine. You're comfortable, it's okay."

"Will you stay when I fall asleep?"

He probably won't because his mom will be too angry if he doesn't come home, even if he lives right next to Jonas, but he still nods and kisses his hair to soothe him. Jonas will understand in the morning, when he's not as tired anymore and has some breakfast in his stomach. 

"Maybe," he whispers and Jonas nods, some tiny sleepy sounds escaping him. "Goodnight, Jonas."

"Goodnight, Issy."

3\. June 2011-

Jonas wishes he could see Isak smile on his birthday for once. His eyes are still rimmed with red from crying and his breath is still hitching everytime he tries to calm down, but he's more okay than he was when he first climbed in through Jonas's window. It's been an hour already, probably, and they haven't said a word. Until now. 

"She forgot," he whispers, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek. Jonas wants to hold him and kiss his cheeks and stroke his almost outgrown curls, but Isak flinches away everytime he tries to just hold his hand. "She forgot my birthday, Jonas. She hasn't even gotten out of bed yet."

"Wait here," Jonas says and gets out of his room to go to the kitchen and get the cake his mamma made and the gift they bought together during the weekend. He knew this would happen. On Isak's last birthday, she yelled at him because he asked if he was getting cake. Quickly, he runs back to his room with the cake in one hand and the gift in the other and his heart feels so warm when he sees Isak's small smile. "Happy birthday, Iss."

He sits back down on the bed and almost immediately, Isak leans against his shoulder like he finally understands that he actually is allowed to trust him. After a while, he grabs one of the small forks and takes a bite of the cake. Jonas follows suit and soon, they're eating like cavemen while giggling about the other having whipped cream on their nose and it's nice. 

When the cake is half eaten and both of them probably have strawberry jam in their hair, Jonas places the gift in Isak's small hands, excited to see him open it. It looks like Isak's about to cry as he opens it and he actually does start crying when he sees what it is. 

"Where did you find this?" he asks, holding the light brown stuffed puppy to his chest with all his might. Maybe it's a bit stupid, they're twelve for god's sake, but Jonas knows how much Isak's puppy meant to him and how much he cried when his dad threw it away. 

"Mamma emailed some stores and asked if they had one. And they did."

Isak nods and keeps hugging the puppy a little bit longer, before turning to Jonas and throwing his arms around him as well. He's still sniffling, Jonas's shirt absorbing both snot and tears, and hopefully, it's out of happiness. You never know with Isak, though. 

"Thank you," Isak whispers, one of his hands clutching Jonas's T-shirt like he's afraid he'll leave at any second. The puppy's lying in his lap and as soon as they let go of each other, he picks it up again, just to smooth over its fur with his always so gentle hands. "I love you."

"I love you too. We have to eat the cake, though. Mamma will be disappointed if we don't."

4\. March 2012-

"Issy?" Isak hears Jonas whisper, then he hears the window close and the quiet tapping of his feet on the floor. "Can I be here for a while?"

The harsh rain has soaked his clothes in just the short moment he was outside and he immediately pulls off his wet hoodie to reveal a slightly more dry T-shirt. Suddenly, the entire room lights up and just a few seconds, they can hear a low rumble that gets louder and louder until it stops. It makes Jonas flinch and Isak realizes why he came here. 

"It's nothing to be scared of," Isak says, but Jonas just shrugs and sits down next to him to hide in his arms anyways. Isak really doesn't mind. Jonas always takes so good care of him and he and his moms even let him stay at their place during Christmas because things with his mom were so bad, and it's Isak's turn to take care of him now. "It's not going to hurt you, you know."

There's another quick flash of light, making Jonas whimper and curl even closer to Isak, his hands clutching his shirt and his head buried in his chest. Isak knows he's been scared of thunder since forever, understood it when he hid in the school toilet in the first grade when there was a huge thunder storm. 

"It's too loud," Jonas whispers, voice so small that it throws Isak off guard. He's not used to a Jonas who isn't confident, who isn't safety personified. He sounds like he's going to cry and that's never what Isak wants, so he goes to grab his computer to watch YouTube on. 

Jonas has already tucked himself in under the covers when Isak comes back, duvet right under his chin and curly head on the blue pillow. Isak quickly crawls under the duvet as well, his upper body leaning against the wall behind them as he puts one of the youtubers he's been watching lately, Matthew Santoro. Yeah, he speaks a bit too quickly for him to be able to catch every word, but he still likes him. 

"C'mon, sit up," Isak says, helping Jonas into a half-lying, half-sitting position and laying an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. "I promise the thunder won't hurt you."

"What if the lightning hits us and the house starts burning and everything gets ruined and we get really hurt and-"

"Jonas." He runs his hand through the black curls and turns down the volume on the computer to make everything a bit calmer and quieter. "We're safe. You're safe. There are taller buildings here, the lightning won't hit us. I promise."

5\. December 2012-

Jonas doesn't know what to do. Isak's crying, sobbing in his arms, hands tightly buried in his own hair. He's used to Isak being upset, this deep-running sadness in his stomach and quiet tears on his cheeks, but it's never like this. He never cries loudly like this. 

After a while of just quietly trying to soothe him by stroking his hair and hushing him, Jonas realizes it won't work and pulls him onto his lap instead. It's obvious, how much Isak's trying to calm himself down but he just can't, his breath hitching and the tears streaming down his face. 

"Issy," Jonas whispers, gently rocking him like he's a baby with his hands stroking his back. "You're not alone. I'm right here, you don't have to be upset. Please." He can feel his own tears welling up behind his eyelids because he hates seeing his best friend be this sad over something his mom probably did. "Do you want to sleep, Issy? I'll hold you, I'll sing you to sleep. Anything."

"Cut my hair," Isak mumbles inbetween sobs, hands still in his messy curls. "You have to cut it, please, I don't want to go home if you don't cut it."

"I don't know how to cut hair. I'm going to ruin it. I don't want to ruin it."

"Jonas, she-, she pulled my hair, she tried to pull it off." And Jonas knows Isak's mom isn't okay, that she's been the source of Isak's sadness for so long, but she's never put her hands on him, never physically hurt him. Not that Jonas knows of, at least. "I don't- don't want it anymore."

"Okay." It pains Jonas to do this, it really does, because he loves Isak's hair so much, but if it would make him feel safer to have short hair, then Jonas will cut it for him without complaining. 

He carefully stands up and places Isak on the bed before he goes to grab a regular paper scissor from the top drawer in his desk and places the trashcan behind the chair Isak will be sitting on so there won't be hair all over the floor. Isak won't move on his own though, and Jonas has to hold him upright for him to get to the spin chair. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, scissor in his right, shaking hand, and Isak's soft hair in the left. Isak nods, wipes his cheeks, braces himself for what's going to come. The first cut feels way too loud. The curl falls down in the trashcan like it's nothing, and Isak lets out a deep breath. 

The scissor feels like it's moving on its own accord, cutting lock after lock, because if Jonas had any idea what he was doing, he'd probably cry. He hated it when Isak's dad cut his hair and now he's the one with the scissor in his hand. Isak isn't crying anymore, instead looking into the mirror like if he'll stare hard enough, he'll join his reflection on the other side. 

He doesn't even know how much to cut, but he cuts enough for the hair to be too short to be able to grab, and it's uneven and a bit ugly but his mom can fix it tomorrow or something. When he's finally done, he puts down the scissors on the desk and just looks. Looks at Isak's stone face, his red eyes, his puffy cheeks, as long as it means he won't have to look at his choppy, short hair. 

"You hate it," Isak whispers, looking at Jonas with both fear and sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I'm ugly now."

"I don't hate it," Jonas answers, but he can hear the uncertainty himself. "You're always pretty. You don't need your hair." Isak shakes his head, just about to say something else when Jonas interrupts him. "I'll cut mine, too, if you want."

6\. August 2013-

Jonas's hair grows too damn fast. It's already on its way to become a less curly version of an afro, and while Isak's hair grows pretty fast as well, it's nowhere near as long as Jonas's. He's not jealous, though, because it means he can braid it properly too soothe both himself and Jonas. 

They sneak out later now than they did three years ago, sitting on the roof until the early morning when the sky already is starting to lighten up again. It's only ten now, though, and they've made a nice little place for themselves out there with both their duvets and all their pillows and blankets. It looks like a huge bed and what's even nicer is that they have multiple chocolate bars, soda and cookies. 

"I wish it could be like this forever," Jonas says, nuzzling the hand that's closer to his face. Isak hums, runs a thumb over his cheek before going back to braiding the newly washed curls.

He understands exactly what Jonas means. There's always something going on with at least one of them, either Isak's having a panic attack over his parents or Jonas is struggling so much with school because his mind won't let him focus, or one of them just feels too tired to do anything but lie in bed and be sad. Jonas's moms are always there, though, even for Isak. They always make sure they eat and sleep and if they need it, they put them to bed with bedtime stories and lullabies. 

They're fourteen and thirteen, but that doesn't matter sometimes. Jonas still sleeps with his nightlight on and Isak still spends some evenings in Jonas's lap because it's the only thing that can make him breathe again. Maybe, it's because he likes the feeling of Jonas's steady heartbeat against his chest as well, but that doesn't matter. 

"Me too," he answers, threading an elastic over the small braid before pulling him closer, Jonas's back against his chest and head leaning against his shoulder. "I don't want to be sad ever again."

"I don't want you to be either."

It's getting a bit chillier outside and they're both only wearing shorts and T-shirts, so after a while, Isak has to let go of Jonas for them to be able to wrap their warm duvets around themselves. They're still close to each other, shoulders pressed together, but they prioritize the warmth of their covers over clinging to the other like leeches. 

"You look like a burrito," Isak giggles, pressing a tiny kiss to Jonas's cheek. "All wrapped up. 'S cute."

"Shut up!" Jonas grins and pushes Isak with his shoulder before sticking out a hand to grab a chocolate chip cookie. "You look like a mix between a soft taco and a beetle."

"What? I'm all nice and you tell me I look like a beetle? That's just mean."

Jonas raises his eyebrows and hands him a cookie, pushing it into his mouth when Isak won't accept it. Isak's pout soon turns into a smile again and he shakes his head before pushing Jonas back. 

"A fucking beetle, man," he laughs, muffled by the cookie in his mouth. "Go to hell."

"I think beetles are kinda cute, though."

"Shut up."

7\. May 2014

Isak never comes over anymore. He says he has too much homework, he's too tired, his mom's getting bad again. It kind of hurts because they haven't fallen asleep together since January and Jonas misses him more than anything. His heart aches for him, his arms feel empty without Isak in them, his throat hurts from unshed tears. 

The night his moms ask him what's going on with Isak, he decides to sneak into his room to talk to him because he needs to know what's wrong. He opens his own window to get out into the cold air, but notices that Isak's window is completely closed and he won't be able to open it. His curtains aren't closed, though, which means Jonas can see Isak sitting on the bed, on the other side of the room. 

Carefully, Jonas knocks on the window, but Isak doesn't hear, or he's ignoring him, so he knocks it a bit harder and he doesn't stop until he turns to look at him. The sigh he lets out is visible even from where Jonas is sitting. He still goes to open it, though, letting Jonas into the warmth of his room. 

It smells like it always does, like saffron and vanilla and coconut lotion. His desk is a mess, full of plates and glasses and loose sheets of paper, and the floor is almost completely covered in clothes. He's not okay. He's not okay and it's so painfully obvious and Jonas wants to, no, he needs to take care of him. 

"Iss," he whispers and Isak's already blinking to keep the tears away. "Angel. You'll be fine. I'm here. Let's sit down, I'll clean this up later, okay?"

Isak nods and lets Jonas lead him back to the bed, where they sit down with Jonas's back against the wall and Isak safely placed on his lap, face tucked right in the crook of his neck. It's so safe, it's so normal that Jonas can feel his heartbeat slow down in an instant because this is what they always do. This is home. 

It takes a few minutes, but soon, the tears threatening to fall are probably gone because Jonas hasn't felt any drops on his skin, and Isak's letting himself touch Jonas, stroking his hair and running his fingers over the back of his neck to soothe himself. The yells from downstairs are still audible and so are the bangs of things hitting the wall, but Jonas is humming a chilean lullaby his mom used to sing to him when he was younger, just to drown out the noise for Isak. 

"How do you know if you're depressed?" Isak asks, voice quiet but still clearer than anything Jonas has ever heard.

How do you know if you're depressed. He has no idea. He's seen these quotes on instagram, posted by accounts dedicated to mental illness, but he suspects it's nothing like that. It's not flowers or movie screencaps in black and white or sad quotes with pretty backgrounds. 

"I'm not a doctor," he says, pressing tired kisses to Isak's mop of curls. "I don't know shit like that." He runs a hand down Isak's back and then up again, starting to rub slow circles into the thick blue fabric, making Isak hum with what he thinks is sleepiness. "You should talk to an adult. A professional."

"I only want to talk to you." It's not the answer Jonas's rational brain wanted, but it still makes his heart feel kind of warm and happy, so he accepts it for now. In case it won't get any worse. "I promise I won't push you away."

"Okay. We'll try. But if it gets any worse, I'm telling my moms so they can set up an appointment for you."

"Maybe-," Isak whispers, nuzzling Jonas's exposed skin with his nose to somehow get even closer to him. "-Maybe you could go with me? It's just, I don't know, it's-"

"It's scary, huh? Of course, I'll go with you."

8\. March 2015

Jonas is drunk out of his mind. He's hiccuping and giggling and stumbling and Isak literally has to get out of his room to make sure that he gets in safely and doesn't trip and fall off the roof. He's been like this a couple of times before and Isak still doesn't understand where he gets all the alcohol from. 

"Lie down," Isak says, pushing Jonas down on the bed with one hand against his chest. "I'm getting a bucket, in case you'd throw up."

He goes downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water and some advil, and then to the bathroom to get a bucket. He really doesn't want to baby Jonas when he does stupid shit like this, but at the same time, he knows he's doing it for a reason. He knows he's hurting, that he's struggling with all his insecurities and fears of not being good or smart or kind enough. This isn't making things better, though. This is only giving him hangovers and headaches and a sore throat. 

When he gets back to his bedroom, Jonas is trying to take his shirt off but his head's stuck and one arm is free while the other one is lost in all the fabric and he's whining at Isak to please come and help him. He looks ridiculous. He looks like a small baby whose arms are too short to be able to pull something over its head. 

"God, Jonas," Isak sighs, gripping the hem of his T-shirt to pull it off. It takes a bit of a struggle, but he manages to do it without any complaining from Jonas. "You're so stupid sometimes."

"Don't say that," Jonas mumbles, pulling Isak towards him and into his arms. They lie down together, Jonas at the right side of the bed to be closer to the bucket, and Isak right next to him as his little spoon. "I love you, Issy. Love you. I'm sorry."

His lips are pressed against Isak's neck, warming the skin, and Isak doesn't want his own heart to speed up because Jonas is so drunk but it does anyways. He can almost feel his heartbeat in his throat and it doesn't get better when Jonas places one of his hands right on his waist. 

"My pretty boy. My pretty Issy. Thank you for taking care of me."

His lips move down to Isak's shoulder, where they stay, soft and a bit swollen from tiredness and intoxication. Isak wants to have them against his own lips, just to see how they'd feel. If they'd feel better than all the girls he's made out with or if it will be the same except for some stubble. 

Isak's just about to turn around to help Jonas go to sleep by stroking his hair, but he doesn't have the time to before Jonas is letting go of him to turn to the edge of the bed and hurl into the green bucket. His shoulders jerk with every heave of his body and every time his stomach takes a break in emptying itself, he whimpers and tries to curl up before another attack of nausea hits him. 

"You're fine," Isak soothes, rubbing his back and holding back his hair, so it won't stick to his sweaty forehead. "It's good. This is good. Just let everything out."

"Fuck," Jonas croaks out, finally a bit sober from all the alcohol leaving his system. "I'm so stupid."

He lies back on the bed and lets Isak tuck him in again, sheets cool against his damp skin. He looks so small, so vulnerable that Isak could mistake him for a small child. He's fifteen, though, soon almost an adult, and they won't be able to pass everything off as platonic. They're barely able to do that nowadays, either.

"Hold me, Issy."

And Isak still can't tell him no.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading please leave comments if u liked it makes me v v happy <33333


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